


For What Has Been Stolen

by Helholden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Coming of Age, Gen, Godric's Hollow, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Light Angst, Returning Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1922190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At last, Harry is going home, but even he is not quite sure what that means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For What Has Been Stolen

* * *

 

His feet stop just upon the grass, damp and sinking from the melting snow, near the downward slope of the hill.

 

The air smells of something stale and old through the crisp, clean scent of the cold. He can't quite place the scent. Rotten wood boards, decaying from years of neglect and bad weather, of the abandoned houses nearby may be the culprit. It’s a logical assumption, though logic has never been his strong suit. That’s always been Hermione’s. He frowns, eyes squinting at reflex to see better in the darkness. The light of his wand is barely enough to illuminate the old house that stands on the ground ahead of him. He steps forward once, twice, but the house seems farther away than it looks. Looks, however, can be deceiving.

 

He puts out his wand, but he keeps it tightly clutched within his hand. His other hand lies at his side, swaying as he walks. The coat that shields him from the weather is thick and long, reaching past his knees. It sways with each step. A scarf is wrapped loosely around his neck with small tassels that twist and turn in the light wind. He blends in with the blackness, a walking shadow amongst the ghostly fog of Godric’s Hollow.

 

Harry stops before the steps. There is the sign of hesitancy in his stiff posture. He has meant to come here for a long time, but the opportunity has never arisen. Now that he is here, he is not sure what to do.

 

He draws a deep breath, taking his first step onto the porch. It is almost as if he is awakening himself a whole new world with his presence. He can feel the assault of sounds and smells and images of things that may or may not be real as his foot touches down upon the house of his parents. The wood creaks, and he takes the door handle into his free hand.

 

When he turns it and opens the door, he is greeted with darkness and the dank smell of sodden wood caused by the earlier snowfall. It has seeped into the house, affecting it in every corner.

 

" _Lumos_ ," he whispers, and the tip of his wand lights up with a soft yellow glow.

 

He doesn't feel the presence of old warmth or of happiness. Harry doesn't hear the laughter of his parents or his own childish giggles echoing faintly in his ears like the whispers of memories. He isn't greeted with the feelings of family or of love, just the emptiness of the shadows lying before him. The hollow in his chest seals itself off at last—refusing once and for all to be filled with substitutes for what has been stolen from him.

 

All he feels here is death and emptiness, and perhaps that is all he is meant to feel.

 

Harry doesn't fall to his knees with grief overcoming him. He doesn't collapse against the wall, his legs too weak to hold him up. He just stands there, the same way he has always stood—only instead of a lanky boy, he is now closer to being a man, and he has the resolution of someone older that a boy of eleven could never have imagined coming to terms with accepting.

 

He blinks back the image of nothing behind his eyes, whispering, " _Nox_."

 

His wand gives out, the world falling dark around him.

 

Some part of him feels like he is home at last.

 

 


End file.
